


Run For It

by Wenzel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-11-23 20:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 16,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wenzel/pseuds/Wenzel
Summary: A collection of ficlets, both fluffy and angsty!





	1. Udon the Space Tanuki

“Three more hours,” Keith said. He hunched over in his seat, his dark eyes empty in exhaustion. “I can’t believe the meeting’s taking so long–”

Shiro nudged him with his foot. Pressed against the Red Lion’s interior, it brutally curved his spine. He forced himself not to grimace when Keith looked over. “The Vrac are stubborn, you know that. And Allura said they had more rituals than hours in the day.” Shiro paused. “Vargas.”

“Vargas, yeah.” Keith flopped back. His armor squeaked against the pseudo-leather of the seat. “…Pidge is gonna be annoyed.”

She’d been warned that it’d be a painful process, but the promise of interesting technology had been too strong to resist. “We can hide in the training room,” Shiro said, only half joking. He leaned down a bit to peer out the Lion’s front windows. Nobody had come close to the Lions: the Green Lion was cloaked, while the Red Lion had been taken for any quick extractions. Villagers had gawked for the first varga, but after the spectacle of the Princess leaving, they seemed to have discarded the Lions as just more military technology.

Keith glanced up at him. “You want some time in the seat? You look exhausted already.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro said, but Keith had made up his mind already. He stood and slunk to the back, just as a quiet scratching noise filled the cockpit. Keith froze. Their gazes met.

“A kid?” Keith mouthed.

Shiro shrugged. “I’ll take point,” he whispered anyway. “Keep your bayard ready, but if it’s a kid…”

Keith nodded. They crept down through the Lion’s core, down to where its belly rested on the ground. Things were roomier the further they got from the cockpit: Shiro stood straight, though he didn’t stray from Keith’s warm presence. Spending private time with Keith was the only benefit to the mission.

Shiro didn’t need to tell Keith to hit the open button on a count of three. Keith already knew that: he followed Shiro’s ticking fingers, and when the door to the Lion’s ramp hissed open, they were both posed to fight. A quiet, gentle mew greeted them. Shiro looked down.

It wasn’t a cat. Shaped like a raccoon dog, its puffy fur covered a burly body. The colour of soot streaked by an almost-blue green, it looked silky as the planet’s two suns shone on it. The creature’s pointed face ended in a little bulbous nose that sniffed intently at Shiro’s boots. Two long tails, each the size of a feather duster, swayed back and forth in a bored contentment.

It mewed again. Its black eyes gleamed as it crawled forward and pressed its nose against his boot. Shiro pulled it away on instinct. The short-legged creature bumbled after it.

“Uh,” Keith said as it entered the Red Lion. He squatted down to scoop up the creature. He held it out, as though afraid it might bite. “Hi?” he ventured. The creature mewed.

“I don’t think it’s like a Yupper,” Shiro said wryly. He reached out to touch a pointed, triangle ear tipped with long, stray hairs. They twitched under his touch. “We should put it outside.”

More mews ensued as Keith moved to put it outside. They sounded strangely sad. Shiro braced himself for the inevitable. “I think it’s hungry,” Keith said. He no longer held it out far from his chest. The creature snuffled at Keith’s neck. “We can’t leave the Lions, but..” Keith reached for the creature’s mouth and checked the teeth. They were sharp. “We have animal protein, right? As rations.”

Shiro knew Keith had already named it.

* * *

It lived in Keith’s room. ‘Udon’ would bumble around Keith’s floor, mewing unhappily when Keith left the temperature low. Its large feet had large pads, perfect for turning cold. When Keith hurried over, it would start to climb his trousers or-- when Keith was missing, and Shiro had just turned the heat up-- it would scramble onto a chair or Keith’s bed. Udon would burrow into the sheets, becoming a quivering lump.

“He’s so cute,” Hunk said the first time he’d met Udon.

Lance kept playing with Udon’s tails. Pidge had leaned in, squinting at the creature’s black eyes. Allura and Coran didn’t recognize what Udon was, but a simple request to its home planet gave them details. Enough details to feed, clean, and play with it.

Those tasks fell to Keith. Udon preferred Keith and Shiro to the others, and Shiro preferred his distance. Udon shed every month. It had sharp teeth that it wasn’t afraid of using on people, whether in play or because it was irritated. Worse, it saw everything smaller than a finger as food. When it was in the control room, it bumbled between people, snapping at shoelaces, gathering pens, and mewing at people for food.

When he found Udon in his room, he wasn’t sure  _ how _  it’d got in. It curled up on his bed, atop his casual clothes, rumbling out its chirping purr as it dug its long claws into the cloth. Its snout raised and it sniffed the air. Black eyes blinked at him slowly.

Keith wouldn’t have put Udon in his room. He knew better than that. Shiro reached up and rubbed at his temples. “Why,” he asked. Udon _  brrrmurp _ ed from the bed. “Who put you here?”

Udon responded by furious licks to its snout. It mewed, the tone carrying that warble that demanded food. Shiro leaned back, out to the hall. “Keith!” Udon stirred from Shiro’s clothes. “Lance, did you put it in my room?”

Keith peeked out from his room. “Udon?” he asked.

Further down, Lance popped out, a grin on his face. He winked, slow and deliberate, before he vanished into his room again. Keith didn’t see him: he hurried down to Shiro’s room, slipping between Shiro and the door frame. Udon perked up at Keith’s arrival. “How long have you been in here?” Keith murmured as he picked Udon up. A thick layer of black and forest green fur covered Shiro’s newly laundered clothes.

“Keith,” Shiro said. “It needs a leash. It can’t keep wandering around.” He tried to scrape off the fur from his clothes. The thin hairs had wove themselves deep into the shirt and pants. “It’s going to take multiple wash cycles to get this out.” He turned to glare at Udon, but the creature had buried its snout in the crevice between Keith’s neck and shoulder.

Keith cradled Udon in his arms. “He doesn’t mean harm,” Keith said. “He’s just… lonely. He wanted to spend time with you, but you weren’t around.” He tapped a foot against the floor. “It wasn’t the cold. You keep your room’s temperature so much higher than I do.”

Shiro stared at Udon, who peered over at him for a moment with dark, round eyes. “...We’ll buy lint rollers at the next colony.” He stepped forward and lightly touched one of Udon’s tails. It swished under his touch; Udon pushed away from Keith’s neck and chirped at Shiro.

He sighed as it purred. “I still say it needs a leash.”


	2. Sheith | Vacation time!

“Study session?” Shiro asked as he peered over the divide between the desks. “Is it astronomy, astrobiology, or engineering? I’m guessing astrobiology. Merryweather loves tests.”

Keith peered up, blurry-eyed. “Aren’t you studying too?” Shiro’s smile gleamed like the golden boy people thought he was.

“Sort of,” Shiro said. “Making some plans. We’ve got end of term in a few weeks, and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to graduate with a bang.”

Keith felt himself give a small smile. “Then it’ll be a month or two before you get assigned a ship. Where are you thinking of going to celebrate freedom?”

Shiro vanished behind the divide. Then he rolled his chair out and into Keith’s space. He clutched a laptop in his hands. “We’re going to Hawaii.”

“We?” Keith echoed, almost without thought. 

Shiro didn’t look up from the laptop’s screen. “I don’t have the cash for one of those luxury places, but I can get us a little cottage on one of the smaller islands.” He looked up. “Do you surf at all? I haven’t learned, but I figure I could.”

Keith blinked. “Surf?”

Shiro nudged him with his foot. “Are you a parrot?” Shiro laughed. “I want you to come with me to celebrate my graduation. You need a vacation, and I want my boyfriend to go hiking with me, or at the very least lounge on the beach beside me.”

Keith turned bright red. For some people, it looked charming. On Keith, it made him look like he’d come down with something. Shiro recognized the look, though. He leaned forward and snuck a little kiss against Keith’s cheek. “...I’m allergic to coconuts,” Keith said.

Shiro grinned. “I’ll make sure not to feed you any, then.” He turned the laptop around so that Keith could see the cottage. It was built from light wood, though storms and the ocean’s wear and tear had bleached the colour from the material. Part of the deck had collapsed at some point-- likely from the weakened wood. A ratty hammock filled a quarter of the remaining deck. The slideshow showed murky windows, a dated interior, small rooms, and aged appliances. The last picture, though, revealed how close the ocean was: at most, a twenty second walk along white sand to an azure ocean.

That oceanfront cost a significant sum. He saw the fees and his heart skipped a beat. “I’ll help pay--”

Shiro shook his head. “I know the stipend second years get. You can barely afford summer housing. I’ve got rewards from graduating-- I can afford to treat us both. Besides, I’m going to need someone to cook, and we don’t want me doing it.”

“Living off charcoal wouldn’t be the healthiest choice,” Keith said, his lips twitching into a grin. “Nobody else is coming?”

“Just us,” Shiro said. “Two weeks of nothing but oceanic bliss. And occasional calls from HQ, but that’s a threat we’ve all taken on.”

“We’ll overcome those.” Keith leaned forward, books on astrophysics forgotten. He kissed Shiro gently. “...Thank you, Shiro.”

Shiro smiled that genuine, lopsided smile he always had for Keith. “Just wait until we’re both officers, babe. I’ve got  _ plans _ .”


	3. Sheith | No Kissing!

“Nobody can kiss,” Allura said.

Lance’s face fell. “What?”

“It means something different on Halzion.” Allura sighed. “It’s a declaration of battle. Halzionites take such things seriously-- you’ll end up in an arena, and the capital will talk of nothing else for the next week.”

Hunk glanced at Keith from the corner of his eye. “That won’t be a problem for some of us.”

Keith ignored him. “We want to talk to the queen, right? Who’s going with you?”

“Pidge would be better off away from other people,” Shiro said. “Then she can monitor communications, just in case something goes wrong.” Pidge looked relieved. “I would like to accompany you, Princess, and I’d like to bring Lance along as well. With his understanding that the ban on kissing extends to the Halzionites.”

Lance muttered something under his breath before he nodded. A sly look took form in his eyes. “Who needs the Halzionites,” he said, “when the Princess is around?”

The meeting devolved soon after. Keith prowled the halls, waiting. Allura and Shiro had more mission details to cover, like court protocol on Halzion or whether humans could go helmetless on the planet. They were several hours out from Halzion, but Keith knew that time would go fast. Preparations had been happening since they’d decided to visit Halzion two days ago.

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge passed him without comment, though Lance smirked, evidently smug that Shiro had chosen him to go with Allura. Keith didn’t care. He had one concern before they reached Halzion. Time inched along at an agonizing pace. He had hours, he told himself. All he needed was five minutes. He leaned against the wall, arms folded as he waited. 

Allura left first. They exchanged a nod; he noticed her slight smile, and she glanced back, as though looking to see where Shiro was. “He’ll follow soon,” she said, because of course she’d noticed. 

When Shiro left, he didn’t notice Keith at first. His furrowed brow and frown showed out deep he was in his own mind. Keith pushed off the wall and began to walk beside him. “Shiro?” Keith murmured. “You all right?”

Shiro blinked. He didn’t jerk back to wakefulness, but he glanced over at Keith. “The Halzionites are just a bit odd,” Shiro admitted. “There are… quite a few taboos. And we don’t know how much they’ve changed since the Alteans contacted them.”

“Hopefully,” Keith said, “they’ve given up on the kissing thing.”

Shiro’s face lightened to a silly grin. “Is that why you were waiting for me?” Keith flushed; Shiro laughed. “We’re only on Halzion for a bit, Keith. But I’ll miss it too.” 

Shiro didn’t glance down either ends of the corridor. He didn’t eye cameras. Shiro leaned in; Keith met him halfway. The light kiss was dry and silky. Shiro’s plush lips were gentle, and Keith’s eyelids drooped to half-lids. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck and slumped against the man’s built chest. “Next time we get a break, some time together?”

Shiro hated taking breaks. He lived on work and duty. “For you?” Shiro asked. “Always.”


	4. Zeitor | Awkward Meetings

“I don’t trust them,” Lance hissed over the mic. “There’s no _reason_ for you and Allura to negotiate. We’ve got them pinned-- even Pidge agrees!”

“It’s to avoid casualties,” Allura said. Her crisp voice matched her beautifully adorned, pressed clothes. All blue, gold, and white, she looked the true Altean royal she was. Keith stood to her right, dressed in the Black Paladin’s armour. “If we strike, the Galra will not surrender until their last soldier dies or we die.”

Keith could hear Lance’s struggle over the line. He’d been assigned to run the Altean Alliance’s security, despite his unease with the meeting in the first place. “They’re not worth the risk,” Lance muttered, “but ours are. Keith, anything happens to the Princess and I’ll take it out of your hide!”

Months ago, the threat would have infuriated him. As the Black Paladin, though, he’d learned to stretch his temper’s limits. “Noted,” Keith murmured as the doors to the meeting room slid open. Allura led the march in; their contingent included dignitaries from the two dozen other races they’d gathered to the Altean banner.

Opposite, Galra waited. Zarkon watched through glowing purple eyes. To the side, his son Lotor leaned against a pillar. Sendak, Haggar, and others were scattered through the Galran portion of the room.

Zarkon didn’t stand, though he bowed his head. His eyes were glued to Keith. “Princess,” he said, his voice a rumble. “Paladin.”

“Emperor,” Allura said. She took the main chair, elevated above the others; Keith took one at her side. “We are here to negotiate in good faith. As I’m sure you are.”

Lotor smiled, his teeth sharp and animalistic. Gold eyes picked Allura apart before they dismissed her. A foolish action on his part. Allura’s skills as a fighter had become legendary among the resistance. “Of course,” Lotor said. “I see you’ve brought your pet Galra to show how gracious and forgiving you are.”

Keith bristled, though he kept his face placid. Allura placed a hand on his shoulder, sensing his mood. Keith spoke. “For both our sakes,” he said, “I'll spare everyone the squabble. I will say, however, that I prefer being a _pet_ than I do a tyrant.”

Lotor laughed softly. “A tyrant?” he purred. “I could show you a pet’s place, Paladin. You’d find it sweeter than the gentle hands of your mistress.”

“Lotor,” Zarkon said, sharp. “Do not make promises you cannot keep.” Keith blinked at the sudden humour. Lotor looked away, as though scolded. “The Paladin does not understand what you offer yet.” Zarkon eyed Keith and smiled a strange little smile. “You understand power, do you not? You wear the armour of the Black Paladin, and the other Paladins follow you as their leader. I see dark lines in your face, though, _Keith_. Exhaustion harries even the strongest lion. What my son offers in such a foolish manner is an offer I can share, albeit more seriously. Come to us, and I will relieve you of your burdens.”

Allura’s grip tightened on his shoulder. Lance snarled something in his ear. ”Your offer is noted,” Keith said tightly, “and dismissed.”

Zarkon smiled anyway, and Lotor muffled a laugh. “So cold and sharp,” Zarkon murmured. “This is your first pitched battle, isn’t it? When the bodies of your soldiers weigh on your shoulders and the dead talk to you in dreams… I think you may yearn for what we offered. Know, Keith, that it will stand.”

Allura held his hand below the table, but it was no shield against the eyes of everyone in the room.


	5. Zarkon/Lotor/Keith | Ghosts

Lotor had always held to a single goal. While his father’s generals bowed and scraped for scraps of his father’s attention, he had cultivated other avenues of power. His father knew about said avenues--hiding things from him was impossible with the reach of the Empire. Their discussions had referred to his work obliquely. 

_ Don’t cause me problems _ , his father said,  _ and I will leave your projects alone. _

It was an excellent deal. That it might end in his father’s demise either hadn’t occurred to the man, or perhaps he thought Lotor’s projects incapable of the act. Lotor never threatened violence. He didn’t make promises of vengeance when his father slighted him. He stood to the side, smiled, and endured.

His father’s fate carried a tint of irony. Of all the enemies Lotor had expected to fell him, his father’s hubris and greed to regain the Black Lion had not been one of them. Voltron and their allies were...unskilled, in his eyes. They’d taken advantage of his father’s weakness and had almost snatched defeat from the jaws of victory anyway. 

He wandered through his father’s halls, aware that Haggar tended to his father’s comatose almost-corpse. Everything he looked at was his. Even the databanks, which he combed through. What had his father been plotting? Some of the details he found were arcane-- shipments from distant planets, search teams hunting for old Altean relics, and massive quantities of quintessence seemed unconnected, but who knew with his father?

What he found, deep inside a dozen files, was something that stunned even him. Surveillance was expected on the Paladins. They were the greatest tools that could be turned against the Empire after ten thousand years of domination. What wouldn’t destroy the Paladins were the strange documentation on a single Paladin: the Red Paladin.

“What have you been up to?” he muttered to himself. The pictures were clinical, largely from combat, and he found, beside them, his father’s written notes. They dissected the Paladin’s fighting technique, which Lotor could understand. But the more he read, the more unsettled he became. There was an obsession, he thought. There were notes on the Paladin’s possible Galran lineage. Instead of notes on how to turn that against Voltron, breaking them apart, his father had focused on bringing the Red Paladin into the Empire. 

This was more than plotting. The Red Paladin’s--Keith’s--favourite foods, possible interests, and even his health biometrics were all listed, as though his father meant to charm him into something  _ more _ . Lotor had no delusions about his parents’ relationship. His mother had died in childbirth. His father had never remarried, nor had he taken on a new lover. It was strangely fitting, then, that his father would find comfort in an unaware Paladin whose mission had brought him into sabotaging Central Command--and thus his father’s almost-death.

“What to do, what to do,” he muttered as he spun in the chair. His generals would tell him to show no mercy. Keith was an enemy, one that’d been noted by his father, if in a strange way. With the Black Paladin missing, Voltron was disabled. At least until they found a replacement--one that could come in the form of dear, fiery Keith. The Red Paladin was always the right hand of the Black Paladin, and it’d be a natural promotion.

Lotor watched a video of Keith fighting as he thought. There was a strange charm to the half-Galra. He was quick, clever, and ferocious as the Lion he piloted. A lonely man like his father could easily find someone with such sharp eyes and dark hair a ghostly figure in their mind. 

Lotor wasn’t lonely, though. He had a purpose. His father had wasted away over the millennia, but Lotor’s rule had just begun. He rose from the chair and closed the files he’d viewed. Keith’s purple-black eyes flickered out of existence, yet they left an imprint on his mind that he couldn’t shake.

The halls were cold and empty when he returned to them.


	6. Sheith | Barbecue and Limeade

“Strawberry limeade,” Shiro asked, “or plain limeade?”

Keith’s lips puckered. “How about neither.”

“Keith,” Shiro said. “Please. I can’t drink it all on my own.”

He absolutely could and he absolutely would. What Shiro needed was an excuse. If Keith signed on for it, Shiro could pretend that the rapidly emptying jug was both their efforts. The only thing that kept Keith from choosing was that he knew, for their barbecues, Shiro would tote out the limeade as Keith worked the barbecue and expect him to drink every drop.

“Strawberry limeade,” Keith decided. The strawberry might hide the awful limeade taste. “You want tonkatsu sauce, or something from Rudy’s?” 

Shiro’s brow furrowed and his lips pursed as he stared at the limeade container in his hands. A woman a shelf down sorted through ketchup bottles. Shiro’s attention jerked away from sauces to hurry over to the ketchup section. “Both,” Shiro said before he buried himself in the ketchup section.

Keith added a few bottles of hickory sauces, tonkatsu, and whatever else looked good. If he used them right, they’d create a shellac-like layer over the tender meat that overwhelmed the senses. Texan pride demanded he make the best barbecue every time he got in front of the grill, and if the sauces helped cover up the occasional mistake-- well, it was worth the money.

“Beef, pork, chicken, or are you in the mood for something special?” Keith asked when he pushed the cart to where Shiro fawned over ketchups and mustards. Shiro hated the plain Heinz type-- he called it too sweet for an adult. 

Shiro clutched a bottle of some fancy ketchup in his arms. He dumped the limeade into the cart and added a special mustard to it as well. “Beef is good,” Shiro said. “Ribs and a nice smoked pork belly would be good.” Shiro grinned, the expression eager and bright. “This is going to be the best leave I’ve had in a long while.”

There was no one around, so Keith stood up on his toes and gave a sloppy if dry kiss to Shiro’s lips. “I can make us some good chips too if we find nice potatoes.” 

Something gleamed in Shiro’s eyes. “And I’ll make you one of your favourites.” Keith perked up. “Big, green, healthy kale smoothies.”

Keith let out a pained noise. “Shiro…”

Impossibly, Shiro’s grin grew. “You’d gain more muscle if you did smoothies,” Shiro said. He poked Keith in the arm. “I see you checking every week, babe.”

“Make me manju,” Keith said, ignoring the rest of Shiro’s words. He didn’t  _ check _ . He measured. He just didn’t like the protein shake and smoothie bar culture of gyms. Shiro loved it and it showed. “And by make me, I mean buy it. You’d torch a kitchen if you tried to bake.”

Shiro nudged him in the shoulder. “My cooking is perfectly fine--”

“If you’re after charcoal.” Keith dodged the half-hearted swat. “... Love you, Shiro.”

Shiro shook his head, still smiling. “I love you too,” Shiro said, “even if you’re an overgrown punk.”


	7. Sheith | First date!

Shiro didn’t know what kind of food Keith loved the most, and he’d never felt so frustrated about something in his life. There were test questions he’d messed up that were less important than knowing if Keith would prefer a Mexican diner, American barbecue, or even a little Indian food. The Garrison was in the middle of nowhere-- but Shiro had a hovercycle, and he was willing to drive them to the town of Mesa Ridge twenty miles away.

“Do you know any local food critics?” he asked Matt as they studied in the library.

Matt stared at him. “For where? The cafeteria?” He sounded genuinely confused.

Shiro jabbed at his tablet, scrolling through pages of restaurants. “For Mesa Ridge.”

“That place is a dump,” Matt said. “If you’re going for a celebratory dinner, you’d be better off waiting until you’re home--”

“This is with Keith.”

Matt’s mouth turned to a solid ‘O’. “Oh my God,” he said. “This isn’t celebration, is it? This is…” He motioned at his groin. Shiro threw a pencil at him. Its sharpened tip poked through Matt’s uniform; he yelped before he flung it back at Shiro, who caught it. 

“It’s not like that at all.” Shiro kept checking the types of restaurants Mesa had. Being in the middle of nowhere, most of them were classic American, which Shiro had never grown a taste for. American staples tended towards extremely sweet, and he preferred savory, spicy things.

Mexican was best for Shiro. What did Keith eat, though?

He compromised with an American barbecue joint with Mexican fare. The reviews were mixed: some said it was delicious, while others accused the place of being run too slowly. It didn’t matter, though. Spending a few hours with Keith at a quiet table near the restaurant’s back sounded like heaven. Even better, it meant he’d spend a half hour with Keith pressed against his back as he drove them to Mesa Ridge. He thought of himself as a gentleman, but some things were a little too good to pass up. 

Keith wore a red tee, black pants, and a black coat. He looked like some ridiculously edgy rocker. The only things missing were garish eyeliner and mascara. Keith didn’t ask about where they were going: he instead gave Shiro a shoulder touch and moved to the hovercycle. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s middle as they took off, leaving the quiet Garrison for the red desert.

Keith’s heart beat fast-- faster than most people’s. When he spoke, Shiro felt the expansion and contraction of his lungs. It was weird and intimate and a little bit strange since they’d only known each other two weeks and it’d taken Shiro most of those two weeks to work up the courage to ask Keith what if he wanted to go out some time, maybe, possibly, as a casual thing, he promised. As they slowed going into the town, Shiro couldn’t help but call back. “You a fan of barbecue?”

“Mostly as an at-home thing,” Keith said in his usual quiet voice. Only the proximity between them let Shiro hear. “I like Mexican, though. Haven’t had a good morisqueta in a long time.”

Shiro couldn’t resist a grin. “Then you’re in for a good surprise.”


	8. Sheitor - Host Club AU

They didn’t get men often. As a male host club, the Castle was considered the territory of rich wives, hostesses who’d got off work, and bored office women whose highlight of the week was a late night party on Sunday. It suited most of the hosts fine: they were straight, and whenever a man _did_ come in, there was a spark of discomfort that set things on edge. Many of the women loved it, but when the host menu went to the customer, those who went to the back prayed to each other that they wouldn’t get chosen.

Shiro thought it was stupid. A customer was a customer. None of the hosts cared to sleep with an old, warty, but wealthy crone, yet they’d flatter and charm her all the same. You didn’t need to be attracted to a customer to sing their praises and empty their wallet.

But then Shiro was bisexual, the only man other than Lotor who didn’t live deep in the closet. Between the pair of them, they got the bulk of male customers at the club. Lotor called it an ‘affirmative action gaydar’ from the customers, whatever that meant. Shiro suspected it translated poorly into Japanese. The American spoke decent textbook Japanese, but the nuances of the language escaped him. He’d confused many a person by trying to translate English jokes directly into Japanese.

“He’s going to be mine, you know,” Lotor said as they collected drinks for their customers. “That’ll make us-- what? Me one ahead?”

Shiro grit his teeth, his thoughts falling away. The new customer waited by the windows, a menu of the hosts in hand. “Two,” he bit out. “He looks straightlaced, though, and he’s Japanese. I doubt he has a taste for foreigners.”

Lotor’s blue eyes gleamed. “He speaks Japanese with an accent, Shirogane. An _American_ accent.”

Like Lotor could tell the difference between English-language accents. Shiro’s native language was Japanese, and he couldn’t. But an accent was an accent. Shiro sighed. “You’re boring.” Shiro abandoned Lotor at the bar. His customers were a trio of young accountants. Their pale faces were marked by exhaustion but when he smiled for them, they burst into laughs and grins. They were tipsy already, even just an hour into their visit. It was less a low alcohol tolerance and more that they drank cocktails like they were water.

From where he sat, he saw Lotor slink away from his table of rich corporate wives to the man’s table. The sultry jazz music acted as quiet background music to Lotor’s performance. His head of white-blond hair was brushed back, and his brilliant white teeth glinted in the light as he grinned. Lotor didn’t speak in Japanese: he opened his mouth, and out spilled the rough, guttural sounds of English.

Shiro knew the language better than Lotor knew Japanese. Lotor didn’t know that, though. Shiro had been content to let the man mutter insults or whisper to himself little mental notes and believe himself safe. Lotor had no idea Shiro had spent years abroad, or had studied English with a terrifying intensity for a year, just so he could watch his favourite show in its original form.

“You a visiting student?” Lotor asked as he sprawled in a chair opposite the man. “I’m going to Waseda.”

The man stared at him. His flinty eyes were cold and disdainful, as though he’d already judged Lotor from those two sentences and found him deeply inadequate. The man blinked and the look was gone. He looked away, down at the menu. “I’m visiting,” the man said. HIs voice was surprisingly low and sweet. “From Toronto. I was told by a… friend,” and that word could not have come out more doubtfully, “that visiting a host club would be interesting.”

Lotor laughed. It surprised Shiro that it sounded _genuine_. Lotor was fake as plastic with customers. “Sounds like you’re not too sure on their advice. Or if they’re a friend.” Lotor leaned forward. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The man’s blank facade cracked into a flickering grin that returned to the ashes of stoicism. “He already knows.” His lips thinned. “I’m Keith.” He said it like it pained him to admit. “...Would it be possible to order something to eat?”

“I’ll bring you some dumplings, darling.” Lotor tapped Keith’s hand, as though it were some magic ritual, and hurried off to bark at the kitchen staff. The smugness in Lotor’s face was repellent.

Lotor’s escape gave Shiro an opportunity, though. A few quick excuses, a single kiss on the cheek for a particularly drunk customer, and he found his way to Keith’s empty table. Keith looked awkward; Shiro’s presence didn’t help. His eyes widened and a flush stole over his cheeks.

Shiro put on his best smile and sat beside Keith. ‘Beside’ contrasted to Lotor’s ‘across’. He knew psychology, or at least applied it more. “You’re looking flushed,” Shiro said. “Is it cold outside?”

“N-no.” Keith’s eyes raked over Shiro’s form. He blinked, as though realizing he’d killed a convenient excuse. “I mean--”

Shiro laughed, bright and cheery. “It’s okay. We’ll say it’s warm as hell out there instead.” He’d switched to English for the man’s comfort. “I hope you’ve found Tokyo welcoming. It can be a bit overwhelming.”

Keith shifted in his seat, though his eyes kept drifting back to Shiro’s. He was really lovely, Shiro mused. The kind of beauty that was unpolished and fierce, like a panther or a wolf. Something inside Shiro regretted that Keith was only visiting. Being Keith’s shimei for a week or two would be nice, though.

He didn’t know yet that Keith’s visit had more permanence than Keith admitted to.


	9. Sheith/Keiron - Sharing is Caring

He didn’t notice it at first. They communicated in stares, frowns, and quick shakes of the head, rarely when he could see. He’d be with Kuron, talking about the Garrison, and the Castle’s clocks would tick over to three in the afternoon. As though on cue, Shiro would appear at the door, smiling. 

“You want to spar?” he’d ask, as though he wasn’t up to anything suspicious.

Keith would look at Kuron, hesitating. But every time, Kuron nodded, smiling just like Shiro. And then, four hours later, Kuron would appear again. Keith didn’t notice the four hour intervals. Time with Kuron and Shiro went by so fast in a flurry of memories and kisses. They weren’t the same person-- he knew that, and had long since accepted it--but the idea of turning his back on Kuron stabbed him with an agonizing pain he didn’t know how to deal with. Kuron was alone in the universe. He didn’t have a family or any friends. The other Paladins varied between nervous and hostile toward him. Allura worried Kuron still spied on them, while the concept of clones freaked out Hunk. Pidge dealt with Kuron cautiously, like he was a frightened dog that might bite. And Lance made joke after joke, trying to hide his own discomfort. The Galra had cloned Shiro. Could they clone the rest of the Paladins?

Only Keith and Coran showed Kuron any sort of welcome. “It’s hardly like he meant to be a clone,” Coran said when Keith asked why. “And any person needs company of some sort!”

Kuron devoured any attention he got. Even if it was helping Coran clean engines and ferry around oily muck. Keith tried to give more intimate company, whether it was watching the stars or curling up in bed. The faint guilt that accompanied every kiss and soft look was balanced out by Shiro’s claim that he didn’t mind, really, so long as he got time with Keith too.

Keith hadn’t known that they were keeping  _ track _ of the time. Four hour blocks each. How they’d arrived at such a bargain or when, he didn’t know. He only found out the arrangement’s existence because of Pidge. “I don’t know how you stand it,” she’d said.

Keith had looked up from cleaning his Marmoran blade and raised an eyebrow. It was one of the few moments of quiet he had. Kuron was helping Coran, and Shiro was resting after a bout with the Galra. “What do you mean?” He squinted down at his knife. “I don’t think caring for a weapon is that bad--”

“I mean  _ them _ .” She waved a hand around. He gave her a blank look and she sighed. “Shiro and Kuron. They’ve got a timeshare on you. That’s stressful, isn’t it? They’re trading you around like a toy. I’m surprised Kuron didn’t have you come with him in helping Coran.”

Keith stared down at the knife and blinked. “I… Oh.” 

Oh. It’d always been a little odd to him that Shiro or Kuron knew where to find him when he was with the other. He’d joked a few times about having a tracking chip, or the Shiroganes having a radar for him. It’d never really bothered him--they read his moods well, and knew when to leave him alone--but the idea that they’d teamed up and hammered out an agreement about who he got to spend time with rankled.

Even if part of him was happy that they’d managed to talk like adults. They spent a significant sniping at each other or flat-out arguing. Maybe, he thought, it’d been selfish to take both of them as lovers. Shiro had said he didn’t mind. Kuron had promised him it didn’t matter. But evidently it did, to some extent, and they’d worked through the problem.

He wasn’t sure if he was proud or a little frightened. What could two Shiroganes accomplish when motivated? He suspected he’d find out soon.


	10. Sheitor | Host Club AU Continuation

He came back a few days later. By then, Lotor had got over his brooding sulk. “If he chooses you over me,” Lotor said, “then he’s an idiot.” Lotor smoothed his long white-blond hair back. Soft as raw cotton, it had a tendency to frizz by the end of a shift. It also had a tendency to whip about when Lotor turned: Shiro knew how the hair felt only because he’d been whacked in the face twice by it. The only upside was that the customers found it funny.

Keith never chose a shimei. Shiro didn’t know if the lack of choice came from ignorance or a cagey sort of opportunism at being able to play off being from abroad. Keith wouldn’t be the first to delay choosing so that the hosts would fawn over him for a few more days. Yet… Keith didn’t strike Shiro as the type to play that kind of game. Either he was unsure of who to choose--in which case Shiro and Lotor had failed in their duties--or he didn’t know the customs of a host club. 

How to bring it up, he wondered, without causing embarrassment or being too forward? Shiro could send Lotor to do it, but that would make Keith feel gratitude towards Lotor. It would be best to spend this visit charming Keith, and hint at Keith making a choice. If he didn’t, well, it’d pain Shiro to do it, but Keith wasn’t going to be around for long. Letting Keith go would be the best option. When Keith smiled at him, though, it was hard to remember that. 

“Are you a student?” Keith asked as they split a bottle of decent wine. It wasn’t one of the most expensive kinds in the club, but it cost enough to keep the frugally-minded from touching it.

Shiro smiled. It was disturbingly genuine. There were no half-lidded eyes, or smouldering looks. Keith seemed quite fine to talk to Shiro the Student, not Shiro the Host. “Graduate student,” he said, “at the University of Tokyo. I study physics and astronomy.”

Something brightened in Keith’s dark eyes. “NASA,” he asked, “or something else?”

Shiro laughed, a wine glass pinched between three fingers. “Astronaut for NASA, yes. I thought about going abroad for schooling, but I’d miss Japan too much. A few more years until I have a PhD, and then I might leave for the US. My sister will be all grown up by then, so I won’t feel guilty!”

Keith’s face took on a wistful expression. “You have a big family, or is it just you and your sister?”

“My parents as well, but just us two as their children.” Shiro nodded at Keith’s glass. “Did you buy the wine just for me?” The glass’ round bowl almost overflowed with white wine still.

Keith eyed the glass. “I’m not big on white wine,” he said. He picked it up and took a small sip. “You seemed to like it, though.”

Strange and stranger. But maybe not so strange if Shiro took the view that Keith may have decided, in his heart, on a shimei already. “I do.” Shiro took a longer sip, enjoying the light and fruity taste. “But you have so many questions about me--what about you?”

Keith blinked at him, startled. Discomfort darted over his face before he looked away. “... I’m here for, uh, I guess business. Kind of.” His shoulders hunched. 

Shiro eyed Keith. It made sense that Keith was employed in a business--the wine wasn’t cheap, nor was a flight to and from Japan. But what did he do? And what was he hiding that made him so visibly uncomfortable? There was still time to find out.


	11. Keitor | Captive Keith!

They used light-manacles to chain him to the chair. His hands were behind his back, while his feet were hooked to the ground in rings. The light, hot as a embers, didn’t singe him It was contained, just like Keith was, though Keith didn’t doubt that the light could be released if needed. If he attacked, they’d take both his hands and his feet. 

Galra he didn’t recognize waited by the entrance. Dressed in crisp uniforms of silken cloth and hard metals, they could have been statues: they didn’t even look at Keith as they waited. Keith didn’t bother to talk to them. Lance might have--it’d be snide commentary or weaseling to escape, but Keith didn’t have the patience or skill for it.

When the door hissed open, Lotor walked in like the commander he was. Keith almost admired Lotor’s self-possession. Lotor always looked certain of what he was doing and unflinching in the eyes of any who’d question him. Keith struggled to figure out the most basic choices, his doubt working to erode any confidence. Some might have blamed Shiro and the team for it, but a leader should always be prepared for people questioning their choices. Keith wasn’t. Lotor was, and he looked ready to dismiss Keith as lacking.

“The Black Paladin,” Lotor mused. “And you’re caught in a tea shop.”

Keith grimaced. In his defense, he’d been running an errand for Coran. The visit to the mall was meant to be a quick break--it was far from the Empire’s control, in Coalition space. Hunk, Allura, and Lance were doing the public PR, while Shiro and Pidge worked on sifting through scouting information. It’d left Coran to ask Keith to pick up more and better tea.  _ The Castle’s stores are a bit… poor after ten thousand years, _ Coran had told him.  _ Pick up anything dark and flavourful, if you can! I can work with strong tea more than I can weak tea. _

Coran had, on some level, assumed Keith knew what Altean teas were usually made of. Were they petals? Leaves? Bark? The tea expert had been a still-pimply college student who knew enough about tea to enjoy it, but was far from a historian. Lotor’s agents had found her and Keith hovering over baskets of loose tea. The girl had been scrolling through online descriptions of the teas while Keith had been trying to contact Coran to ask if luvaloo bark was good enough.

“No defenses?” Lotor asked.

Keith shrugged. “It could have gone better.” How was he going to explain this to the others? He’d destroyed parts of the shop in the struggle, so at least people would know he didn’t go  _ willingly _ . “I’m more concerned about why I’m alive. You could kill me and still bait the others into coming.”

Lotor blinked, then smiled. “Cold-blooded, aren’t you? You aren’t afraid of what I could do to you?”

“I’ve thought about it already.” Keith looked into Lotor’s strange eyes. Why were they so different to what the Galra had now? “It doesn’t scare me.” Death was, by far, the worst outcome. It hadn’t happened yet. Keith felt he could breathe through the panic for now.

“So if I were to torture you, that wouldn’t frighten you.”

Keith swallowed. “... It wouldn’t make me tell you anything.”

“I know. Torture never works.” Lotor took a seat, not on the other end of the table, but right beside Keith. “You’d lie, if you ever spoke. You’d hope that it’d buy enough time for your allies to rescue you. A false hope, but an understandable one.” 

Keith looked away from Lotor. The room he’d been chained in was a large metal cage. There were no windows to look out into space through. No bed, no toilet, no place to drink. It was an interrogation room, but big enough to hold several dozen humans or maybe a dozen Galra. 

“You can stop playing games,” Keith said softly. “You have a plan. Share it or threaten me with it. We both have better things to be doing.”

Lotor reached out and cupped Keith’s face. It wasn’t a kind and loving gesture: it was the clinical examination of a purebred dog’s face, or a horse’s nose. “I’d almost swear your people have Altean blood.” He ran a thumb over Keith’s cheekbone. A light fuzz of fur coated Lotor’s skin, making it far warmer than Keith’s. “Two peoples, separated by so vast a distance, yet if not for their markings and your ears, no one could tell you apart.”

Lotor’s wistful tone made Keith tense. “Is there a point to this?” His heart froze as soft lips pressed against his cheek. Lotor released Keith’s face and stood from the chair, as though he’d done nothing strange. He spoke as he strode from the room, as though he had important places to be.

“Let us continue this another time.”


	12. Sheith | Casual Kisses

They didn’t kiss in front of the others. It was an unspoken rule. If a Galra or one of their spies saw, it opened them up to manipulations and subterfuge. If someone on the team saw, there’d be an awkward, drawn-out discussion on the whens, whys, and hows, and it’d distract the others from their jobs. Personally, Keith didn’t care to hear Lance’s thoughts on Shiro dating him. He knew it’d come back to the grudge Lance had. 

Keith didn’t think Lance would even care to date Shiro. Which, while Lance’s loss, was for the best. It’d instead come back to Lance’s belief in favouritism and competition. Shiro would only choose Keith because of…  _ physical _ attributes. Meanwhile, if the Galra found out about the conflict and Shiro and Keith’s relationship, Keith didn’t think it a stretch for them to take advantage of that. And if they were successful, it could irreparably damage the team.

So there were no kisses in public. They could smile and touch each other and share long, soft looks. Each incident was written off as simply them being close friends or, if enough squinting and head-tilting was involved, almost-brothers. It didn’t mean that some didn’t suspect. Hunk had pursed his lips enough times to make it clear he thought something was up. Coran’s raised eyebrows and lack of comment revealed he suspected. 

In private, though, Shiro enjoyed kisses. When Keith had first started dating him, they’d come as little things sneaked when no one was looking.  In alcoves, Shiro would lean in and kiss the top of Keith’s head. In their dorms, Shiro would wrap his arms around Keith’s middle and pull him close, showering butterfly-light kisses along his cheeks. 

Keith had laughed and swatted the kisses away the first few times. Being the object of such sudden affection startled him. More than that, there was a part of him uncomfortable that someone like Shiro would spend any time on someone like him. Shiro seemed to understand, at least. He’d stop for the week, but the attention never left. That’d startled Keith more than the kisses. Shiro’s attention was rarely half-assed. It was laser-hot and sharp as a knife. Shiro wanted to know so much about Keith that sometimes Keith felt like there was nothing more to share.

It took two weeks before Keith began to crave the kisses. Two weeks of being tied together like someone had knotted the twine of their lives. Shiro didn’t shy away from affection, though the other students thought him cold and remote, all PR smiles and lines.  _ I’m not going anywhere _ , Shiro said without words. And what was said without words mattered far more than anything else.

So, on the Castle, if Keith walked beside Shiro and no one was looking, he’d get a quick kiss on the lips. If Keith passed Shiro working away on reports and files, Keith would sneak up on him and kiss his cheek. It was a game, in a way. Who could kiss the other more without anyone seeing? The only place the game ended was at night, when they slipped into each other’s rooms to spend time in silence, beside each other, tangled together like the knot in their lives.

And if Hunk found them kissing in the gym once, well. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell Lance.


	13. Keitor | Combat Kisses

“This would be a lot easier,” Lotor said over the line, “if you’d just get it over with.”

Keith wanted, desperately, to close his eyes and rub at the tension building behind them. “Shut up, Lotor.” He stalked through the halls, his Bayard out, shaped as a sword with a keen edge. 

He didn’t know where the others were--he’d last seen Pidge and Lance at the drop point, while him, Hunk, and Allura had split to find the generators keeping the ship’s engines alive. One was down, but the other two were better concealed. Keith felt his teeth grinding together. How Lotor had control over the ship’s systems when nobody had known he was even in the same quadrant, Keith didn’t know. What he knew was that he’d prefer to do the tense, dangerous, and  _ boring _ work alone. 

“Certainly not.” Lotor’s voice echoed in the halls. Whenever the sound grew distant, Lotor switched to another set of speakers and microphones. The entire PA system of the ship seemed devoted only to Lotor--not to sirens as the Paladins worked their way through the ship, cutting swathes through droids and soldiers. Lotor, Keith suspected, wanted the ship taken out. It’d been rigged with explosive material, designed to take out the rebel satellite bases. If it got within a system of the Voltron Coalition’s allies, it’d wipe out entire planets. They had maybe an hour before they reached the danger radius.

And here Keith was, Black Paladin and leader of Voltron according to Shiro, stomping through the halls as Prince Lotor of the Galra chatted with him, asking for a kiss. The chatter didn’t even stop when waves of soldiers and droids came. Lotor commented as Keith darted between blaster fire, rolled away from saber slashes, and jabbed his sword into small openings in the soldiers’ armours. 

“You’re fast,” Lotor mused as Keith slided between a pair of droids and swiped at their legs. When the second didn’t topple, Lotor laughed. “You don’t have the strength you should. Is the Castle lacking in training equipment? I’d think that’d be a priority.”

“Shut up,” Keith snarled. His eyes kept searching for the camera, but it was a stupid move. A droid thumped him on the head with a blaster. Keith staggered away, his free hand reaching up to press, dumbly, at the side of his head. Tacky, already-drying blood dribbled from his fingers. Keith looked up to see the droid lurching after him. A swift stab to the gut and its electrical insides sputtered out. 

“If you don’t have a concussion, I’ll be shocked.” Keith stumbled to the side as flesh and blood soldiers leapt for him. “I could tell them to stop, you realize?” One of the soldiers’ expression darkened. Zarkon had woken months ago. Lotor wasn’t anything to the Galra now.

For the moment. None of them knew what Lotor could do if the man put his mind to it. It was a matter of time before Zarkon fell. “Then tell them to stop,” he slurred out. One soldier’s dagger almost went between his ribs. Keith had to pull in a droid to use as a shield. “If you’re having  _ fun _ \--”

“Fun?” Lotor hummed, as though thinking. “Less fun and more determination. If you give me a kiss, Keith, I’ll tell you where the generator is.”

There was no reason to believe that Lotor would tell him where the generator was, or that Keith would even be able to deliver the kiss to get the needed information. Another soldier charged him, with another not far behind. The world spinned along cheerily, unaware of the threats. 

“Fine!” he shouted. “Call them off!”

“Who said anything about calling them off?” Lotor asked. Except this time, it wasn’t over the PA system. Keith glanced to the side, trying not to vomit, and saw Lotor leaning against a wall, a gun in hand.

What followed was a massacre. Keith slumped against the wall and fell to the ground. Lotor tore through his own soldiers, killing with a strange grace that spoke of being born to the sword. The tilting world didn’t help. If he didn’t fear passing out, he might have closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

When the colours stopped smudging his view and the sounds stopped, it left Keith with his uneven breathing. A hand touched his knee. Lotor leaned in, the closed distance sharpening his visage. There was concern in the knitted brows, and a drooping frown at his lips. “I shouldn’t have carried on for so long,” Lotor muttered. “Here--try not to vomit.”

Keith refused to cry out as Lotor helped him to his feet. He also tried not to sprawl against Lotor, but his head hurt too much not to. “Why are you here?”

“Already back to the mission?” Lotor pushed corpses out of the way as he led Keith down the hall. “I’m here for the same reason you are, Paladin. My own operatives are working to find the last generator.” Lotor sighed. “I was going to give you the one we found as a prize, but evidently, the game was a waste.”

Keith didn’t know if he should be grateful to Lotor for saving his life or angry that Lotor had distracted him in the fight. For all he knew, if he’d survived that wave of attackers, the next would have killed him. Splitting up had seemed like the smart choice: the ship was huge, built to carry thousands, and the tracking device for the generators had stopped working after an engineer fired an EMP weapon at them. 

“The others,” Keith said. Lotor looked at him with those sharp, brilliant eyes. “The other Paladins… were you watching them too?”

“One of my operatives is watching their progress. You are my enemies, but having my operatives check the same places as yours would be a waste.” Lotor frowned. “I could have had you all killed, yes, I’m sure you’re thinking it. Your brow furrows in the strangest ways when you smell a plot. But I need your operatives’ help to stop my father’s foolishness or my own plan will fail.”

Keith stared at Lotor. Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe Lotor’s speech was a little too much what he wanted to hear. All Keith knew was that he leaned over and kissed Lotor on the lips. When he pulled away, Lotor looked dumbstruck.

“You asked for it,” Keith said.

Lotor still stared. “Well,” he replied, “I suppose I did.”


	14. Katt/Keitt (??) | Swoon

He was cute, and Matt hated that.  _ Cute _ was for kittens and baby sloths. Not for real, physical people who he had to tutor. Matt looked at Keith Kogane and resented the man’s existence. Hair shouldn’t fall like black waves over his eyes. A pale, elegant hand shouldn’t brush at the fringe in vague, half-hearted annoyance. And eyes certainly  _ shouldn’t _ remind Matt of genuine gemstones. That was for badly written romance novels that his mother loved so much.

If he’d known who Iverson was asking him to tutor, he’d never have said yes. At the time, he’d heard of Keith. It was hard not to: his scores on flying simulations blasted Shiro’s out of the water. The only thing that rivalled the gossip about his scores was the gossip about what he was like. Keith, infamous beyond measure, was known for not talking to anyone unless unnecessary, hoarding food as though the Garrison was post-apocalyptic, and for knowing nothing about physics despite being the best pilot cadet the Garrison had ever seen.

_ Why didn’t they talk about how cute he is too?  _ Matt wondered. Surely that had to have come up at some point in the gossip mill. Sure, Kogane had the ability to shoot a venomous look like a viper’s bite and maybe he wasn’t what Matt would call  _ soft _ , but he was cute and pretty and didn’t the loner type have any cachet anymore?

“I don’t get it,” Keith would say, flat as a board, and Matt’s heart skipped a beat. 

Matt would brush his own hair back and straighten up before he went through the math. He always tried not to lean in too much, but it never worked. He’d get absorbed in the numbers and, when he finished explaining, Keith would nod and almost sock Matt in the jaw. 

He didn’t know what to do. If he stopped tutoring Kogane, that meant he’d no longer see Kogane  _ and _ he’d lose the stipend he got. If he kept it up, Kogane would have to eventually notice. There were only so many times Matt could gape at Kogane as the cadet worked through physics problems or have his touch linger without thinking. 

He didn’t know who to talk to. Shiro was… Shiro, even if Shiro knew Kogane. They weren’t close, though Matt knew Shiro worked sometimes with his father. Shiro counted more as a higher-ranking cadet who enjoyed mentoring talent. Matt was off his radar. Shiro lived in piloting, not science or communications. 

Matt’s roommate was another option. She wasn’t a good option either, though. She was in flight sim classes with Kogane, and she hated him. Matt didn’t doubt she might use Matt’s struggle against Kogane. 

It was like the world wanted to take his suffering, distill it, and then leave it to ferment to something toxic. This was his life now: staring into beautiful eyes, trying not to touch Kogane and get burned by sheer  _ frustration _ at how pretty Kogane was, and struggling not to fumble words when Kogane’s brows drew together and his eyes widened whenever something clicked.

He was getting paid $19 an hour for this, and it still wasn’t enough.


	15. Pining!Shiro with Clone Theory

People expected big gestures. What qualified as big depended on the person: for some, it was a bouquet of flowers; for others, it was a room of them. Either way, people expected copious amounts of  _ evidence _ for affection, even when the viewers weren’t involved at all. So none of the others noticed, because he’d never turned up at Keith’s door armed with chocolates, a gold ring, and a bushel of flowers.

They missed the quick kisses in shadows and the gentle looks. Shiro wondered if his clone had done the same, in those moments where Keith and him had been together. Maybe his clone had loved the bigger gestures, but wouldn’t that have attracted attention, if only from Keith? He didn’t know who to ask. Keith was gone on another Marmora mission, and his clone was in a healing pod.

If he asked the others, he’d need to explain what the problem was in the first place. By how they looked at him--fearful, apprehensive, with flickers of raw adoration--none of them knew. But he wanted to know if Keith had noticed. He wanted to know how Keith was. It’d been another year since he’d seen Keith, and he hadn’t even possessed the knowledge that Keith was alive, that he was  _ okay _ . Shiro had been caged away in a far-off lab as the Empire created clone after clone for an army. All he’d known was the Empire found itself in chaos and he was alone.

Until Voltron had attacked. And Keith--somehow, for some reason--wasn’t there. He wasn’t even a Paladin anymore. That fact had taken backseat as they figured out what to do with Kuron, who’d been injured by one of the rogue clones. 

“We have,” Lance had said, “too many Shiros.”

Pidge and Lance had dubbed it Shiro-geddon. Shiro had just wanted to know where Keith was, but nobody had a good answer to that. 

“He went to help with the Blades,” Pidge told him. 

Lance had shrugged. “He thought he’d be better off elsewhere.”

“He didn’t want to stand around doing nothing,” Hunk said, “and I can’t blame him.”

Coran’s answer had been brighter. “Probably finding out more about his people, eh? You don’t just find out you’re an alien race everyday!”

Allura’s answer was the best. “He found more purpose in the Blade than he did in waiting.” Allura had looked away, her features shadowing. “I--I won’t apologize for taking the Blue Lion. The Lions choose their Paladins, after all. But your faith in him may be more needed than ever.”

There were no messages from Keith. No little notes sent through discrete channels. Shiro tried to contact Kolivan, but got nothing from that end either. He was left trying to bond with the Black Lion again and fill an empty hole in the centre of his body. Exhaustion burned his eyes. He wanted to wrap his arms around Keith, pull him into bed, and sleep for a few days tangled together with him.

But he wasn’t there, and Shiro didn’t know when he’d be back.


	16. Volleyball AU | Sheith

“Another round?” Shiro asked.

Keith hunched over, his hands on his knees as he panted. The only thing he found comfort in was that Shiro’s chest puffed up and down too. “... In a second,” he admitted. If there’d been a bench close by, he probably wouldn’t have used it out of pride. But he’d certainly have thought about it. The tournament was four days away--enough to practice hard with a few days of recovery, and then a light bout the night before to limber up.

If someone had told him six months ago that he’d be playing volleyball, he wouldn’t have believed them. But six months ago, he hadn’t known Shirogane. Keith had just been a biology major who ran laps on campus and spent time in the gym. He didn’t play sports. Sports were for high schoolers and professionals.

He supposed, at this point, he qualified as a professional. College volleyball had money attached to it--scholarships, tournaments, further recruitment efforts for the Olympics and the like. Not that Keith was interested in any of that when Shiro looked like he’d been sculpted by a randy Renaissance artist.

People  _ weren’t _ supposed to have biceps that could crush people’s heads. The only comfort Keith found in Shiro’s muscles was that he could hit a ball hard enough to break it. Admittedly, it’d need to be a cheap one, but Keith still remembered gaping the first time Shiro did it. The thwap of his fist against the ball had echoed, almost rivalling the rip, pop, and slap of the broken ball. It’d flopped like a beached fish on the other side of the court.

Shiro had turned around, back to Keith, and taken his shitty beer back. The rest of the team, drunk off their asses, had hooted and hollered. It’d become very clear to Keith, at that point, that Shiro was team captain not just because of his charisma. He was the best player the college had ever seen.

Which brought him back to the present. Shiro had seen Keith on the beach once, and invited him to play beach volleyball. Keith had been too stunned by how the sun fell on Shiro’s golden skin to get out an effective ‘no’. At the end, Shiro had come up to him and invited him to try out for the team.

It was his first tournament in a few days and Keith did not at all feel ready. Everyone else had played since high school; Keith had picked up the sport in a few months, just before the season started.  _ Another round? _ Shiro had asked. Keith felt like he needed another fifty, especially when Shiro started trotting out the game’s lingo.

“Yeah,” Keith said in a wheeze. “I could go for another round.” His mouth was dry, but the water bottle was too far to walk to. Lactic acid built inside his limbs, weighing him down and cultivating a soreness that prickled. But Shiro grinned at him and swaggered to the other side of the net. A new ball, just barely broken in, balanced on Shiro’s palm.

“Up top, King Hops,” Shiro said. The thwack of his hand against the ball summoned the last reserves of Keith’s energies.


	17. Keitor | Lovecraft

They met in the library. It was a cold day, one of rain and fog, and Keith had curled up at a desk, armed with books. A laptop was to the side, tended to with a single hand. Few people stopped to talk to him: the library was busy, at least for the summer semester, and all the other researchers and academics were tied up in their work. When the students came, all would be interrupted for the next several months.

Keith didn’t work for the university. He didn’t work for any, really. His job was simple: to catalogue old texts, translating them when he could, and give the occasional lecture at the invitation of a student union or professor. To them, he was ‘cultured’ and ‘travelled’ and not in the least bit slightly maddened by what he did.

Western Gale University was a place like any other. On an island near the coast of Massachusetts, it was wealthy and well-bred, despite its recent origins compared to Harvard or Yale. WGU had  _ prestige _ , but more importantly to Keith, it had a text whose heritage befuddled those who examined it. Written on a strange paper, bound by leather that the paranoid whispered was made from human skin, its letters were curled things, and the language long dead. It’d only been spoken as a dialect in a single town in the Mediterranean.

Keith looked over the book, his hands gloved. He knew the language--Marsan--though it came from a secondary source. The old tongue had thrived in a village rumoured for its sacrifices and dark magics. He’d visited the ruins years ago. Nothing remained except for a rust-drenched old rock in the centre of crumbling foundations.

“You’ve found it,” the Exile said in his ear.

Keith refused to startle. He’d learned by now that nobody but him could see the Exile. And wasn’t that good for them? The Exile’s beauty was only rivalled by the strangeness of his appearance. White-haired, oddly eyed, a violet tinge to his skin that reminded Keith of decay… No, the world was not meant to see the Exile. 

The Exile’s cold hands rested on his shoulders. “You can’t ignore me forever, Keith. You’ll need my help to translate this--I was the one who taught you Marsan, after all.”

Keith chewed the inside of his cheek. “I don’t need your help.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. Appearances needed to be maintained, though. “... Are there curses on the pages?” he asked in Marsan. 

“None that I would let hurt you,” the Exile said.

Keith frowned down at the golden flesh of the book. It’d been a clear, beautiful brown once, but age had marred it, rendered it spotty pine and slashes of golden-yellow fat. “Then why did you come?”

“Because I wish to see how far you’ll go to get what you want.” The Exile’s rot-purple skin came into view, white fingertips pressing against the plastic-sealed cover. “These are the Yellow Emperor’s words given form. So many humans have dreamed of them between the stars, and I have opened the path for you to see their truth. Does a farmer not have a right to see the fruits of their labour?”

But what had the Exile sown? He’d never answer, and Keith knew better than to ask. Keith reached for the book and lifted the cover, his breaths hitching as he saw the pages. They held stars.


	18. Shendak | Poor Meetings

Shiro didn’t mind the meetings. He knew Pidge found them boring, Keith fell into a state of awkwardness, and even Hunk lost his patience eventually. They were all good people--good  _ soldiers _ \--but they hadn’t been made for diplomacy or raised to be show horses. It was left to Shiro, Lance, and Allura to present the Voltron Alliance’s face.

So when it came time for peace negotiations with the tattered remnants of the Galra Empire, it was Shiro who co-led the Alliance’s delegation. Dressed in his armor, bayard at his side, he strode into the room like the general everyone told him he was. It didn’t matter if, in the quiet moments, the spaces between battle, he wondered if he was lacking or too traumatized to lead: the moment demanded he look his part.

His eyes scanned the room, a brave and rogueish smile on his face. It almost shattered when he locked eyes with a pair of familiar gold ones. Sendak smiled, thin-lipped and furious, from the Galran table.  _ Did you think I was really dead? _ his eyes seemed to ask, soulless in their quintessence-intensity. 

_ You were jettisoned, _ Shiro almost said.  _ You should be  _ **_dead_ ** . The better side of Shiro, the side that he tried to only show, told him he didn’t want Sendak’s death on his conscience. But he’d killed so many soldiers already--what did one more matter, even if he knew the man’s name?

Sendak grinned when Shiro took his seat but said nothing. Shiro almost found it in himself to hope that Sendak wouldn’t mention a thing. The meeting proceeded without Sendak’s interruption. When Allura spoke, Sendak only sneered. When Shiro spoke, a strange smile stole over Sendak’s face, condescending yet crooked. 

When the meeting adjourned for a quick break, Sendak stood and swaggered over. “Nine million lives later,” Sendak said, “and we meet again.”

Shiro flinched despite himself. The numbers were Galran. Many more had died on the Alliance’s side. “All led by you,” he snapped. Sendak’s placard said ‘General’. “Where were you hiding?”

“Hiding?” Sendak echoed. He laughed, light and brisk. “I wasn’t hiding. I was  _ dying _ . You noble Paladins did jettison me, after all. But no, I couldn’t leave it there, could I, Champion? We hadn’t finished this. So in a way, I came back for you. Isn’t that romantic?”

Shiro’s stomach filled with acid. “How many did you kill?”

“Thousands,” Sendak said. His eyes were gleeful. “Millions. Which do you want me to say? If I give you a number, you can justify murdering a prisoner--or trying to, at least. You wanted me gone from your own personal weakness. Do they know?” Sendak looked at the other delegates around. “Are any of them aware of what their beloved hero did? They love you like the crowd loved you. The minute you lose--the minute you stumble--they’ll turn on you. They always do.”

“Shut up,” Shiro hissed.

But Sendak had never listened to that. His grin widened to something sick. “I won’t tell them,” Sendak said. “That’d make things too easy on you. It might even let you feel like the victim. I like this little secret of ours. Just you and me, and the knowledge that you’ll never be the hero they want you to be.”

Sendak didn’t even say goodbye as he walked away, back to his seat. 


	19. Katt/Sheith | Jealousy

It started with jokes. It was  _ Matt _ , though, so Shiro didn’t think anything of it. Matt’s default came as jokes, science, and enthusiasm. Shiro smiled at them interacting: Keith needed more support--Shiro knew how isolated he was among the Paladins--and Matt was good at being supportive. Now that Keith had… not left, but decided to work with the Blades for now, having connections mattered. Something needed to keep him grounded.

Shiro would have offered to call and talk as much as he could, but he knew that put the Blades’ operatives at risk. With Matt and the rebels, though, contact could be professional and purposeful. It’d let Keith feel less like he’d been replaced or was no longer important.

But what Shiro saw, when they were in person, set his teeth grinding. Matt didn’t touch Keith, but he was always close enough to. His smile reminded Shiro of Lance cozying up to girls. The expression in Matt’s eyes mirrored the expression he’d had when he saw Allura. When Matt steadied a weary Keith who stumbled toward his room, Matt’s touch  _ lingered _ .

Shiro didn’t own Keith. Keith was his own person, and he could make his own choices because Keith was an adult, and a mature one at that. If Keith wanted to spend time with Matt, that wasn’t Shiro’s business. Shiro should, in fact,  _ support _ Keith. It was a good thing for Keith to have more friends. He’d had only a handful at the Garrison, most of them acquaintances he’d known by name, and among the Paladins, he had Shiro and no one else. Pidge hadn’t known him before the Lions, nor had Allura. Lance controlled his temper in a loose manner: sometimes he kept their conversation to casual jabs, and other times it devolved to shouting.

Hunk, despite his friendship with Lance, had his head on straight. And to be fair to Allura, she made an effort to reach out to Keith. But Pidge was distant, Lance aggressive, and Keith was left to stumble his way through social interactions he’d never wanted. Maybe, Shiro had always thought, if there  _ hadn’t _ been such ire between Lance and Keith, Keith would have found his place easier. It wasn’t to be, though.

Which made Matt’s presence important. It let Keith and Pidge talk more. It let Keith feel normal. It didn’t matter that Matt harboured a crush: so long as Matt didn’t pressure Keith, it wasn’t Shiro’s business. Shiro repeated that to himself through a dozen meals, his eyes glued to Matt’s wandering hand and constant leanings-in to Keith. 

Keith spoke to him after those meals. He wore his Blade uniform, forever conscious that he might be called away. “I’m glad you had Matt on the way to Kerberos,” he said.

Shiro forced a smile. “What makes you say that?”

“Because,” Keith said, smiling, “he’s a nice guy. I know the mission ended badly, but I’m glad you had someone there who wasn’t miserable to be around.”

Shiro had, in fact, liked Matt. In a cramped ship, it would have been a misery to be stuck with someone obnoxious, arrogant, or petty. Matt and his father had been none of the three. But what had been virtues on the way to Kerberos were now offenses coming from Keith. Shiro had never thought himself jealous, but Keith was all he had left.

He’d never let Matt take him without a fight.


	20. Pidge finds an alien on Earth

Aliens existed. It was a fact. The universe was huge, there were trillions of planets, and time had provided enough time for at least one planet to spawn life. Why wouldn’t the same circumstances have occurred elsewhere?

She didn’t believe in little green men or greys. What she believed in was the possibility of other life, and the potential for contact. In her lazier moments, she watched transmissions from space; in the more active times, she found herself rooting through government archives. 

Illegal? Yes. But it was only bad if she got caught.

Government files revealed two things of interest. First, the government had suspicions. Nothing as concrete as the arrival of an alien, but rumours. Garbled messages.  _ Kerberos _ . And second, they were terrified of what was out there.

_ Kerberos exploration team’s disappearance comes with potential threats  _ the first file she’d gone through had said. Pidge didn’t know if it was paranoia or truth. There were entire files that’d been blotted out except for a date. Her skills brought her to a server that’d been so cordoned off, she’d found only two traces of its existence. 

The threat the government and military feared was amorphous. The potential aliens had no form. Whether the Kerberos crew had been killed or kidnapped or really just experienced a pilot error, they didn’t know. A chaotic sound feed recorded shouts and snarls, but nothing concrete.

There was no  _ I come in peace _ or even a  _ I come to kill you _ . Guesses reigned. One lieutenant argued strongly that the noise had simply been mechanical feedback. Another said the sounds were clearly organic in nature. 

It was hypnotizing to see the back and forth. Her brother and father were gone, and not even the military knew what was happening. In the times she didn’t feel crushed and overwhelmed, she found a bit of her laughing at that.

The laughter died at the Garrison. They threw her out the first time for getting close to the servers. Her second go, she tried to immerse herself in the Garrison. If she became invisible to those around her, then she could monitor their transmissions and actions, maybe even eventually reaching those secret servers.

It was where she first got a glimpse of  _ him _ . His hovercycle roared over the barren landscape, a cloud of orange spraying behind him. He passed by the Garrison every day. For a time, she wrote him off as just a courier. A month passed before she realized his passage timed perfectly with the Garrison transmissions she so assiduously tracked.

She stole a set a binoculars to catch a glimpse of him. Black hair, red and white clothes, a slim body and pale skin--it wasn’t enough in the moonlight. So she took his license plate and broke into the local database.

Keith Kogane. It was a name, and it turned out to have a history. Not on social media, but in the Garrison’s records and in competitions. He’d won racing contests across the country, did work in science competitions, even saved a couple whose car had gone off a bridge and into ice cold water. 

The science competitions weren’t Holt-level as she’d call it. The racing competitions were partly illegal. But he’d been a star at the Garrison--a volatile one, but also one whose face appeared in Takashi Shirogane’s social media with a surprising regularity. What struck her the most, though, was a single thing.

His eyes were purple, and no human had purple eyes.


	21. Katt/Sheith | Jealousy P2

Someone had it out for him. Shiro didn’t know who, but when he did, he was going to… He didn’t know what. Be massively disappointed in them, he supposed. Challenging them to single combat seemed a bit extreme, but whoever they were, they were dropping every opportunity in the world into Matt’s lap. 

Matt had taken to tutoring Keith in advanced science. Keith had been no slouch at the Garrison, but he’d been in the pilot stream. The basics were covered, and they were given enough information to understand what engineering and communications talked about, but the sophisticated stuff Hunk, Matt, and Pidge discussed required more than that. Shiro should have approved of the tutoring. It gave Keith time with others  _ and _ it helped Voltron.

Shiro didn’t know who’d given Matt the idea. Maybe it was just Matt himself who’d decided it. But there was something a little too  _ convenient _ about the sudden decision. Shiro had walked into the Castle’s kitchen to find Matt surrounded with tablets and a computer with Keith pressed to his side. They were smiling at each other. Matt’s hand rested on Keith’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing into the flesh.

If Shiro could have spaced Matt, he would have. It would have been the most satisfying thing he could do. But Shiro had forced a smile back at Keith’s bright eyes and collected a drink. “What are you two covering?” he’d asked, as though everything was just fine. He tried not to look at Matt’s thumb.

“Pidge’s invisibility systems on the Green Lion,” Keith replied. “I wasn’t really sure how it worked, but Matt’s helping me.”

Shiro had no clue how it worked either. He couldn’t even counter-offer tutoring. But there  _ was _ something he could offer that Matt couldn’t. It was Keith’s ultimate weakness. Matt’s smile would break.

Shiro’s smiled widely. “You can teach me it over some flight sims.”

Matt’s smug smile shattered. Keith, meanwhile, straightened, eyes large. “I’ve been wanting to do some exercises with cruisers--do you think the Castle can do them for more modern ships?”

Shiro would beat the simulation computer until it coughed it up. Anything was better than scuttling away with his tail between his legs just because Matt was making moves. “I’ll have one ready to go when you’re done.”

He tried not to relish the guilty, furtive look Keith shot Matt. Keith didn’t lie well--not with his tongue nor his body. He wanted to go do the sims, but Matt’s presence kept him tried there. Which was fine. Let that eat away at Matt. 

It was petty. It was unworthy of him. If he cared about being the best leader he could be, he’d have left it all alone. Having Keith understand the work of other team members meant an improvement on the skills of the group. Matt was helping--even if he had an ulterior motive. But Shiro needed to find  _ some _ line. He couldn’t give up everything just because it might be for the greater good.

Shiro liked to think his wants mattered too.


	22. Sheith | Galra Behaviour

Convergent evolution did not mean Keith was a cat. Keith told that to anyone who stared at his ears and smirked, or tried to bait him with a laser pointer. Sure, he had ears and a tail now, but that just meant he was a different type of mammal. He told Shiro that over dinner, movies, and during cuddling. Shiro would pet his tail, and a warm purr rumbled forth. Much to Keith’s embarrassment. 

“Do you like… fish?” Hunk asked once.

Keith’s ears had flattened. “No.” Which was a blatant lie: Shiro seen him live on fish and chips before. “ _ Don’t _ ask about catnip.”

“Touchy,” Hunk muttered, but he let it be. 

It’d been an accident, sort of. Keith’s body had changed from exposure to quintessence. It was temporary, Coran had determined, but Allura would need to gain more control over her powers before Keith could return to being a human. Interior-wise, Keith hadn’t changed at all. He was still Keith.

But Shiro found himself  _ noticing _ things. Small things that he’d written off as ‘just Keith’ or ‘quirks’. But in Keith’s cattish form, they started to strike Shiro as strange, not that he’d tell Keith that.

Keith liked to sleep in pools of sunlight. He seemed to become more awake at the night, causing problems for his school schedule when they were back at the Garrison. Those were normal human things. People varied in what times they operated best at. There’d been lectures about it at the Garrison for anyone interested in command. People were not uniform, and good leaders worked with everyone’s differences.

It was not a simple human difference to purr. Shiro had tried to write it off as a strange snore at the Garrison. Now, though, he wondered if Keith had learned to purr from his mother. The sound was fuller in his Galran body, much more of a rattle. But it wasn’t just sleeping in sunlight or nocturnal preferences or even purring.

Keith was fastidious. Not just for his rooms, but for his body. He didn’t primp or decorate himself, but he hated being dirty. Something wet touched him, and he’d give the human equivalent of a hiss. One day, during frosh week at the Garrison, someone had hit him with a water balloon. His fury had scared away half his year from talking to him.

Shiro’s favourite behaviour, though, was the softest behaviour. Keith liked to touch people. Lance and just about everyone else would have laughed if Shiro had said it, but it was true. He just didn’t touch anyone he didn’t trust. It meant that, in quiet moments, Keith would curl against him as they studied, a stray hand rubbing fingers against his skin.

The first time it’d happened, they’d been roommates for a month. Their relationship had been quiet and comfortable, but Shiro would never have called Keith his closest friend yet. That hadn’t dimmed the raging crush Shiro had been nurturing, nor did it stop them from sharing Keith’s bed by the window to study. Keith had been absorbed in astrobiology; Shiro had been slogging through a book on cosmic background waves.

And in the quiet, Keith’s hand had drifted to Shiro’s leg. Shiro’s heart had stopped at the touch, and only began to thunder when Keith absently rubbed his fingers into the muscled flesh. Shiro had thought Keith had been hitting on him, causing a comedy of errors for the next year. Keith had been oblivious. He’d never done it before. Later, when asked why he’d never done it to anyone else, Keith had shrugged and looked away.

“I’d never felt that comfortable with someone before.”


	23. Platonic Kallura | Meeting Shenanigans

She caught him playing tic-tac-toe. Negotiations were miserably long, and Keith felt suffocated under the weight of everyone watching him. His Paladin armour was red, yet he hadn’t always been in it. Everyone knew it, if only from the shows Voltron had done. When the less informed heard his name was Keith, their confused looks bounced between Allura and him. Her glower would have impressed a lion.

“What’s that?” she murmured to him as a dignitary blustered about tariffs and trade squabbles among a single quadrant. 

Keith froze, pen in hand. The table’s screen had been divided into two windows: one, a briefing note page, and the other a note-taking program. All he’d done in the program was draw and erase, draw and erase, and draw and erase tic-tac-toe games. It was against himself, which was pointless, yet he’d somehow managed to lose twice from being absent-minded.

“A game,” he muttered. He edged his tablet toward her. In full view, he sketched the little chart. He alternated Xs and Os, filling the chart to a draw. “It’s… just to waste time, I guess.”

Allura frowned at the tablet. He braced for a small scolding, but instead she carefully drew a chart on her own tablet. In quick succession, she mimed what he’d done. Then she frowned at it again. “So you just do that again and again?”

“No, uh--” He wiped his chart clean. “Get three in a row.”

Her lips twitched. “I assumed that from the order, yes. But how can you do anything but the same configurations again and again? You can’t beat yourself.”

She would be surprised. “A lot of the time, you have a partner to play with. It’s usually a kid game.” Keith was twenty one. Not a kid. Still lost to himself, though, and he hoped Allura never found that out.

The dignitary mispronounced the name of another dignitary, which caused an outburst that interrupted their low conversation. After the delegations had been ushered back to their seats and ruffled feathers smoothed, Allura doodled a tic-tac-toe game as she listened. Keith found himself sneaking looks, though he didn’t dare play again. What if Allura saw him lose to himself? He knew already that he didn’t have a great reputation for brilliance on Voltron. Intuition and tactics, sure, but he wasn’t a Hunk, Pidge or Matt. 

The meeting inched along at a pace measured in millennia. Keith found his attention wandering. The tic-tac-toe charts became doodles of dignitaries’ ears or tails. One had a pair of scaly wings. It was as the next dignitary was climbing the stage that Allura cursed, startling Keith to a jump. His head snapped to look at her. Alarm filled her face and her hand lunged out to cover the tablet. It wasn’t fast enough. He saw the problem instantly.

She’d lost against herself too. Embarrassment was visible, but all Keith did was hit undo on his tablet. A lost match appeared after a few clicks. He slid the tablet over into her view. 

Keith had always thought of Allura as a friend. That day, though, they sealed a far deeper pact. Both of them could play tic-tac-toe, and neither of them would mention the few occasions where they lost against themselves.


	24. Keith, Krolia, and Shiro: An Introduction

It was a moment of quiet in constantly chaotic universe. Shiro, despite his worries, allowed himself to breathe. They were away from Oriande, reunited with Keith as they met for a meeting with the Blade. They needed to discuss the plan for helping Lotor--and they needed help from the Blades to give Allura the chance to get the quintessence she needed for her alchemy.

There was someone glued to Keith’s side, though. Shiro didn’t recognize them, especially with a mask. The stranger loomed over Keith, the pair almost funny in their disparity. They kept touching Keith, which stopped Shiro from laughing. They were light touches, reassurances and guidance. Not like Shiro’s touches: Shiro knew his were charged with  _ something _ . Shiro felt his eyes narrowing as he watched.

When it was just Kolivan, Keith and the stranger, and the rest of Voltron, Lance spoke. “Who’s the new ninja?”

Kolivan frowned, his brow furrowing. “Ninja?”

“Y’know,” Lance said before he burst into a series of punches. “Ninja!”

Shiro put Kolivan out of his misery. “The new Blade. You look like you know them, Keith.”

Keith’s mask went down. His eyes were averted, but a smile lingered at his lips. “I--I suppose I should.”

The stranger laughed, her voice soft. “Should I, Keith?” Keith nodded once. The stranger’s mask fell, and Shiro felt his jaw drop.

Familial resemblance was a thing, Shiro knew. People usually looked like at least a bit of their grandparents, if not their parents. Shiro looked like the spitting image of his maternal grandfather. Keith, Shiro had always thought, probably took after his mother, largely because he didn’t look much like his father in the few pictures Keith had.

But there was resemblance and then there was photocopying. The woman was purple and Galran, but she looked like Keith. Or, more accurately, Keith looked like her.

“What the  _ quiznak _ \--” Lance turned bright red. “That’s your sister?!”

Shiro barely stopped himself from facepalming. Pidge didn’t bother to stop herself. “That’s his  _ mother _ , you dim bulb.”

Shiro stepped forward, offering a hand. “I’m glad you’ve met each other,” he said softly. Keith deserved to have a family that wasn’t just Shiro. Voltron had almost been his home, but Keith had edged away from everyone, even Shiro. “I’m Shiro, Miss--?”

“Krolia,” she said. “And I’ve heard a lot about you, Shiro.” She smiled, the expression almost as beautiful as Keith’s. “My son told me that you’ve looked out for him. He admires you--” Keith froze, as though bracing for something-- “and I wish to thank you for being such a good friend.”

Shiro laughed. For the first time in a long time, he strangely felt more like himself. Keith, whatever form he came in, was familiar. “Keith’s done just as much for me, Miss. Has he told you about the time he went to town in the rain just to pick up food for my birthday? Or him covering for me when I was late for class? It’s been a mutual friendship.”

Krolia’s eyes gleamed. “It seems I haven’t heard the whole truth. I think we’d have a lot to talk about, Shiro.”


	25. Dance Frat AU - Sheith

“I don’t dance,” was the first thing out of his mouth. Keith leaned straight-backed against the living room wall. He’d have migrated to the kitchen to escape notice, but the halls were jammed with drinkers and lovers. Music boomed from stereos. People screamed and laughed and shouted, and Keith thought that, at some point in the night, he’d been transported to his own personal hell.

Shiro still waited for him to give a proper rejection. He looked stupidly handsome, even in shorts, a t-shirt, and a snapback. They were both living their college years, but only one of them was enjoying it to the fullest. A red solo cup full of cheap beer wavered in Shiro’s hand. His eyes had the sheen of drunkenness that Keith recognized on sight.

“You should,” Shiro shouted over the house’s din. “You’d be great at dancing. I’ve seen you move, Keith.”

Shiro didn’t deliver it with a leer, which was the only thing that saved him from a disgusted look. Keith wanted to rub his temples or take a deep breath, but half the building stank of pot, the rest of alcohol, and the entire hellscape insisted on being as loud as possible. There was no relief to be found. 

Keith shrugged in lieu of a response and lifted his own solo cup to his lips. The vodka was cheap swill, but the goal was to get sloshed enough that he wouldn’t remember the night or the finals that’d just wrapped up. Shiro leaned in. He reeked of beer--piss beer, the cheap stuff, the stuff that left an agonizing headache just like Keith’s vodka would.

“Dance with me  _ once _ ,” Shiro said. “I won’t mention it again, I promise. Let’s just blow off a bit of steam.”

“Shiro--”

Shiro broke into a series of hip-thrusting and ass shaking. Keith felt years of his life drain from his own body. Shiro grinned as he danced; he did a spin that sent his drink sloshing over the rim. Some of it landed on a man passed out and rolled on to his side. It was evidently that time of night.

Keith closed his eyes. He refused to participate. Knowing his luck, someone would see and film the sight, posting it on Facebook. There was a fifty-fifty chance they’d tag him in it too. Keith pushed off from the wall and began to walk away, shaking his head.

Shiro caught him by the shoulder and turned him right around. Shiro’s arms looped around his waist, and they flew into a twirl. Keith lost his cup of vodka; he grabbed for it but realized he was about to topple if he moved any further. As though hearing Keith’s thoughts, Shiro yanked him in. Shiro smelled of musk and clove, Keith thought dazedly. 

“Hold on!” 

Keith was too drunk for this. He’d been low-key buzzed since the first hour, but now, up close to Shiro, it felt like he’d chugged a bottle of Smirnoff. Words failed to reach his lips as Shiro began to grind against him in sync with the pounding music. 

“Hng,” he said.

Shiro laughed and pressed closer. 


	26. Team | Gen/Sheith | Guilt

The realization didn’t come all at once. It came in pieces. Keith would speak. Others would reply. Keith would shrink back, a grim look on his face that everyone read as a sulk or hostility. No one would ask after his ideas; no one cared to.

It was how things went, Pidge thought. Keith was prickly and a sulking gadfly.

Keith was arrogant, Lance thought. He always wanted attention and he always wanted to control things. It was good that he shut up.

Unruliness threatened the group cohesion, Allura knew. Keith had a tendency to lash out, and while she knew he had reasons for how he behaved, sometimes it was for the best that Keith took a few steps back.

And Shiro saw it as Keith’s burden. He didn’t do well with others, never had, and Voltron was a slow learning process in how to do better. Shiro loved Keith--adored him--but everyone had flaws. Keith was rash, moody, and sometimes abrasive. He had more talent than just about everyone Shiro had ever met, but that didn’t help when he couldn’t get along with people. Shiro wasn’t sure how to feel about it: he remembered, distantly, feeling warmer about Keith before he was recaptured. Maybe seeing Keith flounder in leadership had removed some of the shine.

It was when Keith left that something uneasy crept over them. When the group split on Lotor, they felt like a voice was missing--a critical one, a quiet perspective, and someone who could have spoken to Shiro. Shiro didn’t notice. Not yet. But he did in the quiet Castle as Lotor and Allura went to Oriande. As oxygen depleted and they desperately worked to restore power, Shiro found himself dogged by a hundred thoughts.

Would Keith have stopped him from going to the Kral Zera? Would he have raised the alarm about Zarkon betraying them when it came to Sam Holt? Keith had never been the type to stand down. Even when Shiro had told him there was no option as Lotor fired, the other teludav being spirited away, Keith had found a third option.

The same thoughts had plagued Allura. For Lance, he suspected that Keith might have said something about Shiro yelling at him. Maybe Shiro would have been happier with Keith around. Pidge thought the same, though she never said anything.

“Where do you think Keith is?” Lance had asked Allura once.

Allura had found herself fiddling with her sleeves. “... I don’t know,” she’d admitted finally. 

_ We should ask _ went unsaid. But there was a shame, in a way. Who didn’t remember the confrontation? Who didn’t feel a bit uncomfortable as Keith had walked away? It wasn’t the thundering guilt of having killed someone, or the guilt of hiding a secret.

It was the quiet festering discomfort that something had gone wrong, something was  _ missing _ , and no one knew how to purge their hearts of it. 


End file.
